


Deals in the Deeps

by AetherSeer



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Mentions of Pregnancy, Mermaids, Multi, Weird Biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 22:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20348155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: The cold waters of the northern deeps are unforgiving, and even moreso for young mers used to the warmth of the tropics. Only the most determined make it through the maze to where Zhenya keeps his cove—only those desperate for what Zhenya has to offer.





	Deals in the Deeps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iaintafraidofnoghostbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintafraidofnoghostbear/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Beneath Me, Diving Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968463) by [iaintafraidofnoghostbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintafraidofnoghostbear/pseuds/iaintafraidofnoghostbear). 
  * Inspired by [Ocean Beasts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945114) by [iaintafraidofnoghostbear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintafraidofnoghostbear/pseuds/iaintafraidofnoghostbear). 

> This fic was inspired by elenajames' mer!fic, and takes place in the same 'verse. As it is directly connected to "Ocean Beasts" and "Beneath Me, Diving Down," this fic can be read as a standalone, but I would advise reading the others first.
> 
> Further descriptions and content warnings can be found in the end notes.

The cold waters of the northern deeps are unforgiving, and even moreso for young mers used to the warmth of the tropics. Only the most determined make it through the maze to where Zhenya keeps his cove—only those desperate for what Zhenya has to offer.

Zhenya watches the youngster swim away, orange scales fading to gray as he passes beyond the algae that lights the path to Zhenya’s cove. Zhenya drums his fingers against his hip, nails clicking against scales. Seven days of the land-dwellers’ time is scarcely a lot of time, but Zhenya’s willing to make the wager this Nolan will see it through.

Zhenya leans into Tom’s coiling embrace, fluid muscle twining along and around Zhenya’s tail, thick arms circling Zhenya’s waist. “Think he’ll do it?” Tom rumbles.

“They hurt him,” Zhenya says softly, sharp nails trailing lightly over Tom’s furred forearms. “They violated him and took by force what should only be freely given. Yes, I think he’ll finish what they started.”

Tom’s big hand slides down, petting at the join of skin to scale. “Will he have … any reminder of what he endured?”

“There will be no child from that violation,” Zhenya says, words as cold as the unforgiving seas.

Tom hums against Zhenya’s throat gills, a deep vibration that rattles its way through Zhenya’s skeleton to the very tip of his tail. “Good.”

Tom unwinds slowly, letting his coils drop one-by-one until he’s in front of Zhenya, close enough to cup Zhenya’s face in those big hands and search Zhenya’s face from just a handspan away. The algae is brighter in the entrance to the cove than on the path, but the watery shadows still play along the planes of Tom’s face. “Come inside,” Tom says, thumbing along Zhenya’s scarred cheekbone.

Zhenya’s gills flutter and he curls into Tom as they swim to the back of the cove, through a softly-lit tunnel to emerge into a shimmering cavern. Zhenya trails a light hand over the slick, smooth walls, polished to a high sheen by the currents of days long past.

Tom separates then, and Zhenya continues on to his laboratorium—potions and spells neatly tucked away in carved niches, a steam vent hissing beneath contained boiling water. Zhenya warms his hands near the potion in progress, enjoying the red-tinged heat as the magma surges red beneath the stone.

Calloused hands catch Zhenya’s fingers, pulling him gently but inexorably away from the heat of the potion and against the heat of another living creature, blue-nearly-black scales wrapping Zhenya up in meters of scarred muscle. “Batya,” Zhenya sighs into Brooks’ collarbone.

“Your spell took more than you anticipated,” Brooks chides him.

“Two land-dwellers,” Zhenya reminds him. “Twice the chance of a child, and twice the call for justice.”

Brooks pulls them along, twisting through a side passage to a darkened alcove piled deep with pounded-soft kelp. Zhenya makes as if to protest—he’s hardly a child in need of guided sleep in the deeps—but Brooks’ arms are like steel around him, holding him close as the kelp settles.

Tom barely disturbs the pile when he joins them a short while later, sinking amid the strands and coiling around them both, tails entwined so close that Zhenya’s pale scales are barely visible amid brilliant red and deep blue.

* * *

Zhenya’s hands, fine-boned as they are, are still rough and scarred in comparison to Mitch’s delicate skin, better suited for brilliant clear waters than the challenge of the deeps. But Mitch’s eyes are nervous, and his hands betray him for it, fluttering for fast currents that no longer roll past the cove.

Zhenya’s made sure of that.

“Do you know what’s—what’s wrong with me?”

The question is one Zhenya’s heard many times. The sea can be fickle, and life in her waters can be dangerous to lives great and small alike. But for a mer of Mitch’s persuasion to be childless yet is uncommon, which is why he’s traveled the distance to Zhenya’s cove.

“You’ve coupled every season you’ve desired a child?” Zhenya checks, fingers probing where Mitch’s belly should have rounded, scratching lightly at a bright scale and getting a flinch for his troubles.

Sensitive.

“Yes. I’ve tried, and tried, and … nothing. And when mating season’s passed—” Mitch trails off, fingers twisting against each other. The young mer swallows heavily. “But you’ll figure out what’s wrong?”

Oh, the hope in his voice. But Zhenya cannot promise. And he says as much, gesturing with his other hand. Mitch’s eyes grow huge, eyelids flickering, when Tom and Brooks swim closer.

“This may be invasive,” Zhenya cautions, hand poised above the sensitive scales hiding Mitch’s cloaca. “It will hurt some, as mating season has passed. I will be as gentle—and quick—as I can.”

“And them?”

“We’re to keep you still, so you don’t hurt yourself or Zhenya,” Tom says quietly. “If you move, things can go bad, quickly, given—”

Zhenya holds up his hand, letting the algae’s light illuminate his claws. They’re sharp as any mer’s, and as impossible to dull as any other predator’s teeth. “How badly do you want a child?” Zhenya cautions.

Mitch sucks in a deep breath, gills flaring. “Anything.”

“Dangerous, to promise such a thing,” Brooks warns him, guiding Mitch to a carved slab and settling him into a reverse recline, head low and tail draped over the high end, belly and slit on display.

Brooks holds the young mer down with hands at his shoulder and ribs, Brooks’ own tail wrapping around the base of the slab. Tom’s hand just touches Brooks’ on Mitch’s opposite side, his tail circling Mitch’s sapphire scales and weighing down, pulling the young mer to a full stretch.

Zhenya rests a hand at Mitch’s scale-skin, the other stroking softly along Mitch’s sealed-closed slit. “Hold still, and open for me as best you can.”

Mitch moans, high-pitched, and shivers in their hold as Zhenya teases a claw between soft, sensitive scales. It’s out of season, but determined slow strokes and increasing pressure have Mitch widening and opening beneath him, soft pink insides revealed.

Zhenya teases his fingers in deeper, until he hits resistance and Mitch flinches hard beneath him, held still by Tom and Brooks’ efforts, but only barely. “Ah,” Zhenya says softly.

“What?” Mitch demands, voice higher-pitched and closer to a warning screech than Zhenya anticipated.

“The way is blocked,” Zhenya says, withdrawing his fingers and letting Mitch’s body close back up. “The seed cannot enter your womb, because your womb is blocked. Held shut.”

Brooks and Tom release the young mer, who curls up and shivers with what Zhenya recognizes to be pain both physical and not. “So I can’t have a child.”

Now Zhenya lets himself smile. It might not be the nicest smile. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then say what you mean!” Mitch’s eyes are as blazing blue as his scales, and Zhenya’s pleased to see that fire. It will serve him well. “Stop playing with words and tell me what I need to do!” His teeth are sharp, claws just as needlepoint-fine as Zhenya’s own, fins flaring.

“You have to fuck a human,” Tom says, and Mitch whirls around.

Zhenya snarls silently at Tom, who just crosses his arms over his chest and looks big, refusing to clarify. It works well enough, and Mitch finally turns back to Zhenya, calmer than before. “Explain.”

“Your passage is blocked. A mer’s cock isn’t rigid enough to press through the flesh—not to break it, because it’s not a barrier but rather muscle too close together. Most mer with this get lucky and seed may get pressed through eventually; you seem to be more unfortunate than others.

“A human’s cock, on the other hand, is rigid. Almost like bone. It may hurt you some—he will enjoy it, I promise,” Zhenya says darkly, “but human men will be able to force through to your womb and spend their seed there. You seem to be otherwise fertile.”

“So what’s the catch?” Mitch asks suspiciously.

“The child may not be of the sea,” Zhenya says. “It’s the risk one takes when mating with humans, even if it is possible—or pleasurable.”

“But I will have a child.”

“Yes.”

“And the price of this knowledge?”

“When you conceive your child,” Brooks answers, “your debt will be called upon. Should a child not come of a mating with a human of your choosing, then our services were of no help to you, and cannot demand payment.”

“It will not be an impossible price,” Zhenya says, when Mitch still looks unsure. “I ask for items I need for my spells I can no longer retrieve myself from the shallows.”

Mitch visibly brightens at the reassurance. “That I can do,” he says. Then he hesitates. “You’re—You’re sure this will work?”

Zhenya leans back into Brooks’ arms and smiles slow, sharp teeth on full display. “I’m _ very _ good at what I do.”

Mitch’s bright scales wink and disappear as he zips through frigid waters back to the warmth of the near-surface, and Zhenya winds a hand through Brooks’ short hair, clawed fingers scratching through the beard that so few mers manage to grow.

Brooks’ eyes slit, watching Zhenya closely, and his own claws prick at Zhenya’s sides. “A child,” Zhenya hisses, tension releasing after hours of coaxing Mitch through his examination. “He will risk it, too, mating with a human for a child that may not be of the sea.” _ For a child that he may never see again, _ Zhenya doesn’t say.

He doesn’t have to, for as many times Zhenya has given the same advice to mers desperate for children. Desperate enough to risk the human men who sail the seas above the waves. After all, only the desperate make deals with the sea witch.

**Author's Note:**

> There is mention of Nolan's encounter with a pair of human men that resulted in him being raped. It is not described in detail. There is also mention of ensuring no pregnancy resulted from said rape.


End file.
